Commentary by True-Blue of Manchester:

O may some Poet rise, in future Times,Worthy to sing thy Praise, that soaring high,Above th' Aonian Mount, or Sky-dipt Top,Or Snowdon's Brow, that, if compass'd, would makePindus a Wart; thence, on Miltonian wingMounting a-loft, may reach the Stars of Heaven,And there inscribe thy never-dying Name;That as the Greater Bear, so call'd of old,Was chang'd by Moderns to the Charles's Wain,The Lesser may be call'd from thee the Cart;There may'st thou roll within thy narrower Orb,Attendant and regardant; nor e'er set,Nor setting, fall beneath the Ocean's Brine,As the blind GrecianBbard divinely singsSelf-taught. There may'st thou ever shine, to guideThe British Sailor o'er th' Atlantic Deep,Homewards returning from each distant Clime,And point his Course out to his native Strand;Where safe arriv'd, he jocund leaps on shore,Roaming in search of Wine and buxom Lass,His Solace from long wat'ry Way return'd.